The Secret of the Debutantes
by Eclectic Butterfly
Summary: Sequel to Scandal's Daughter. Fall, 1902: Six months after her first encounter with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Serena Norton finds herself on yet another case with the world's only consulting detective.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Hello everyone! After several years, I am pleased to present to you the further adventures of Serena Norton. This is, as is stated in the description, a sequel to Scandal's Daughter which can be found on my profile and should be read first , so that there is no confusion.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

**Fall, 1902**

"Miss Norton! Kindly pay attention!"

With a sigh, I pulled my gaze from the promise of freedom the window brought me. "Mrs. Stanhope, I'm listening," I protested, trying for an appealing tone as I looked at my governess. From the frown on her face, she didn't believe. I continued on, trying to convince her of my sincerity, "You are trying to impress on me the importance of shadowing in my drawings."

"I will not stand any sass from you, young lady! That is not what I was saying at all."

Sass? What had I just said that could be interpreted as sass? To be perfectly honest, Mrs. Stanhope simply did not like me. At least, that was what I believed. I didn't want or, in my opinion, need a governess. However, as my parents decided that boarding school was not the best environment for me, a governess was deemed the only other option to continue my education.

Thus, Mrs. Stanhope had come into my life, and nothing had been the same since then. She criticized my behavior. She swatted my hands whenever I spoke an opinion. She tutted at my wardrobe. And now even my sketches, my hobby, were not safe from her critical eye!

Complaints had done me no good. Both of my parents said that Mrs. Stanhope was looking out for my best interests. Father was the most insistent that I make the situation work. He undoubtedly feared that I would find another murderer and get into trouble if I were to set foot in another school. After all, that was what had gotten me sent home from my last school and had propelled me into an adventure.

Six months had passed since I had gone in search of my parents. I still had not been told what reason had had them in hiding, though I had begged on more occasions than I could count to know the truth of the matter. At fourteen I was considered too young to know the secret that had endangered not only my parents lives, but mine as well.

It was not fair!

"You should have advanced to water colors or oils by now! Are these truly your best work?" Mrs. Stanhope demanded, pulling my thoughts from the past. She was spreading my sketches out on the table in front of me. She pointed an accusing finger at one particular page. "And what, pray tell, is this?"

Leaning forward, I instantly recognized the page. "That, my dear Mrs Stanhope, is a marketplace in London," I answered. And one I knew rather well. I'd gone there many times when I had served as a maid for the residence at 221 Baker Street. I'd drawn it from memory a few weeks after I had returned home.

"A lady should not draw such things. You must be able to display tasteful scenes to your peers," Mrs. Stanhope decreed firmly. She lifted another page and glared at it. "Why have you drawn a violin and pipe together? They ought not share a page, and you should not be drawing a smoking pipe in the first place."

My cheeks flushed as I snatched the page back. "It is to remember a...friend," I said in defense of my work. Friend was stretching the acquaintance I had with Mr. Sherlock Holmes a bit. I decided that I had had enough of her criticism and went on the defensive. "My drawings are purely for my enjoyment, Mrs. Stanhope and I view them as private!"

"Private? Miss Norton, your artistry, or attempt at artistry, along with you musical skill, is the only proper accomplishment you seem to have!" Mrs. Stanhope responded, throwing her hands in the air. "However am I supposed to prepare you for marriage if you insist on acting like a bluestocking and persist in independent thinking?"

Marriage? This was the first I was hearing of this and I was not about to hear it. "I am fourteen years old, Mrs. Stanhope!" I objected, sweeping my drawings together. "Marriage is hardly important at the moment."

"But you are a young lady of gentle birth and rank!" Mrs Stanhope responded. "Your father has many political opportunities in front of him. You will be expected to display yourself as a proper young lady. Also, it is your duty to prepare yourself for the role you are to play as a gentleman's wife!"

"Perhaps I shall not marry at all!"

Really, I was too young to be having such a conversation! I knew full well that there was more to life than becoming someone's wife, but Mrs. Stanhope seemed to have old-fashioned values. She had done nothing but attempt to change my very self to conform to how she viewed a young lady ought to be! And I was growing very sick of the whole thing! School, with its rules and strictures, would have been a relief in comparison!

Mrs. Stanhope scoffed in disbelief. "And what would you do instead? Be a governess yourself?"

Terrifying thought! "No!" I said swiftly. I thought quickly for a reasonable, logical response. "Perhaps...a singer!" While hardly the gifted performer that my mother was, I was sure I could hold my own on the stage. After all, I had a few years to improve...

"Ridiculous! Young ladies of good family do not become professional singers, or have anything to do with the stage!"

Clearly she did not know the truth about my mother! "And if they do?" I challenged.

"They are ruined forever!" Mrs. Stanhope declared in an over dramatic way. "None of my charges have ever disgraced themselves in such a way and you will not be the first! Do you think that Miss Johanson or Miss Caroline Wetherby would behave in a manner such as that? They would not!"

She spoke the names of two parliament members' daughters as though they would matter to me. Perhaps my stubborn streak was kicking in, but I took her declaration as a challenge. I had just opened my mouth to say so when the door to the schoolroom opened. Mrs. Leigh came in, bearing a tray of tea. "Just as you requested, ma'am," she said to my governess, her tone cold and mocking. "Tea to end your lessons with Miss Serena."

Mrs. Leigh, who had known me my whole life, had taken an instant dislike to Mrs. Stanhope as well. She viewed my new governess as an intruder and had gone out of her way to show it. She even carried up tea to check in on me, when a maid should have done the work. I was simply relieved that at least someone agreed with me!

"I made your favorite pastries, Miss Serena," the housekeeper said to me, her tone softening as she turned to me.

"I believe I asked that Miss Norton not consume those french things," Mrs. Stanhope said in disapproval as I snatched up one of the flaky pastries. What did she have against such wonderful treats? I could only wonder. "I shall speak to Mrs. Norton-."

"I spoke to the mistress," Mrs. Leigh interrupted, surprising me with her rudeness. "She has said there is no reason to deprive Miss Serena of her favorite eats."

Mother had been completely occupied with arranging a new program for her singing that I was a bit doubtful that she'd taken the time to hear Mrs. Leigh out on the matter. Of course, I wouldn't say so with Mrs. Stanhope in earshot. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her and I would continue eating what I wanted.

Selfish? A bit.

Petty? Absolutely!

Was I sorry? Not in the least!

"Mrs. Leigh, I would value your assistance," Mrs. Stanhope said suddenly. I gave her my full attention because not once had she ever showed any interest in another person's opinion. Why was she requesting Mrs. Leigh's? "I'm trying to impress upon Miss Norton that even speaking of a career on stage is quite improper. You have such an influence on her, and you must see as I do."

The housekeeper sent a sharp look at me and I clearly saw the conflict on her face. She did in fact agree with Mrs. Stanhope, but to actually voice an agreement with her? "Miss Serena knows what's expected of her," Mrs. Leigh hedged. She made a quick exit before she could get forced into agreeing with her enemy.

"You see, Miss Norton? You must stop this ridiculous idea of working for a living," Mrs. Stanhope said, pouring the tea.

"What is so wrong with it?" I demanded. "You are a governess. You must work to provide for yourself, do you not? Why should I not consider it as well?"

To my surprise, Mrs. Stanhope's cheeks flushed a bright red. "Why I am a governess is none of your business, you impertinent child!" she snapped. "Now, enough of this foolish talk. A young lady of your age should know better. This is what comes from sending children to schools where there is not the least bit of discipline!"

I laughed out loud at that. "You have not stepped foot into a boarding school, have you?" I said. "There is most certainly discipline."

"But not enough for the likes of you! Otherwise, you would not have run off and very nearly brought disgrace on your family!"

Is that all she'd taken from the reason behind my not returning to school? My father had disclosed the whole tale to her once she'd been hired. I would think the fact that I had nearly lost my life at the hands of a murderer would have been a bit more important than disgrace for my family. Of course, I may be a bit prejudiced on the subject.

Despite the attack on my life, and the time I'd spent as a maid, I had fond memories of London. Especially of Mr. Holmes, who had stimulated my mind in a way that I sorely missed. His monographs that had been sent to me were engaging and full of facts, but there was no one to keep me on my toes, as it were.

Mrs. Stanhope did not count, for she merely wanted to change me into a society puppet! Mr. Holmes had encouraged me to use my mind. The difference is obvious.

However, I had given my word that I would behave and appreciate what Mrs. Stanhope was doing for me. "I shall attempt a watercolor that will satisfy you," I offered as a sort of peace offering. I would keep my opinions to myself as I should have been doing from the start.

"Do that," Mrs. Stanhope responded, readily. She sipped her tea. "I will know what level you are at. And then I will show you how to improve. Perhaps in a year's time we will have you where you ought to be."

My jaw clenched as I kept from saying what I thought of that! Thankfully, there was a distraction. Mother came into the room. "How are you doing, darling?" she asked, bending down to kiss my cheek. "Is Mrs. Stanhope giving you lots to work on?"

"There are many areas your daughter has to improve in, Mrs. Norton," Mrs. Stanhope said before I could give my answer. "I believe we will have to add several hours to our school day to accommodate the necessary time needed to make progress."

What? Out of the question!

"I'm afraid you must hold off, Mrs. Stanhope," Mother responded, serenely. "For at the beginning of next week, we are all transferring to London."

"London!" I exclaimed in delight. How I had been longing to be back in the city and now it was to happen! "You are opening Briony Lodge?"

"Of course, you cannot mean you are taking Miss Serena with you," Mrs. Stanhope objected. "It simply isn't done!"

Mother's face became like stone. I had inherited a good portion of my stubbornness from her. "Well, it is how we are to do it," she answered. "My husband has much work to be looked into there, and I cannot bear to separated from him for long." She sent a smile at me. "And we know all too well what Serena will do when she is too long from us!"

Mrs. Stnahope sputtered in the most interesting of ways. "B-but I am here, Mrs. Norton!"

"Yes, and you will be a wonderful companion to Serena in London, as I am sure she will have many places she will wish to explore," Mother answered, once again serene. "The Leighs have already begun the preparations. And now, it is time for Serena's music lessons, if you excuse her?"

Mrs. Stanhope had no objection to voice, and I left the schoolroom with Mother. "She isn't happy," I commented.

"With you as a pupil, I don't see how any governess would be happy!" Mother teased lightly. "You will enjoy London properly."

Because before I had been in fear of my life and that of my family. "I would like to call on Mrs. Hudson," I told her. The dear housekeeper of 221 Baker Street had been like a grandmother to me while I was there. I have written to her once and had gotten a fond response. "Would that be proper, do you think?"

"Of course, Serena. I knew you would wish to do so," Mother answered, linking her arm with mine. She frowned. I had grown over the summer and was now as tall as her. "When did you grow so much? We will have to outfit you once again while we're in London. I cannot have any daughter of mine looking like a child when she has become a young lady!"

"You sound as bad as Mrs. Stanhope!"

In the music room, she sat next to me at the piano and my lesson began. My mind, though, was far from focused.

I was returning to London!


	2. Chapter 2

The next several days were spent in a flurry of activity. I barely had time for lessons with Mrs. Stanhope, a relief in itself! And when I was forced through etiquette lessons, I had the prospect of London to console me!

And, in the midst of it all, a letter from one of my former school friends arrived. Jane Meyer was one of the few girls from school that I stayed in contact with, and mostly because Mrs. Stanhope had decreed I needed to maintain "connections" as she called them. Jane was a nice enough girl, a bit flighty but sweet. Her responses to my letters were few and far between.

I opened the letter and scanned the writing as I walked. The news the brief letter contained took my breath away.

"Serena, you're looking rather pale," Mother remarked from where she was collecting her music together. "Your letter from Miss Meyer doesn't contain bad news, does it?"

"I'm afraid it does, Mother," I said, looking up. "Jane writes that her sister has been killed in an accident."

"Oh, dear. How tragic!"

I nodded and examined the letter closer. The paper as the same as always, but there was something drawn on the lower part of the letter that caught my attention. It was a buttercup. I had knew some young ladies personalized their letters in such a way, but Jane had never done so before this.

"Serena, can you hand me the Wagner?" Mother requested, gesturing to the portfolio of Wagner music that sat near my elbow. I folded my letter, putting it away to consider later, and did as she asked.

In no time at all, it seemed, I was crossing the threshold of my mother's house. This was the first time she'd ever opened it since she'd married Father. The circumstances of Irene Adler and the King of Bohemia are quite well known, tanks to Dr. Watson's publication of the event. For several years, there had been many who'd watched the house to get a glimpse of the owner. Now, enough time had passed, it was simply the unused dwelling of a former performer and her husband.

Immediately, Father was off on his business that seemed to be oh-so-secretive. Mother had the grand piano tuned and began to go through the program she'd outlined. Apparently, she had several performances scheduled during her time in London, and was determined to shine as she'd never had a chance to before.

I was, once again, left to the mercy of my governess and she was determined to make up for lost time. As I was denied being able to make any visits in my current wardrobe, I was initially pleased that Mrs. Stanhope took it on herself to take charge of the update to my wardrobe. However when that, it turned out, involved a smaller corset, I was not so happy with the situation. Mrs. Stanhope was quite intent on making my waist smaller than could possibly be healthy!

"I cannot breathe!" I protested when I was first laced into the torture device at the dressmaker's establishment. I had worn a corset before, naturally, but not one that was nearly so tight or constricting. "Can't you loosen it? Just a little?"

The assistant moved to do so, the look on her face compassionate. "Certainly not!" Mrs. Stanhope said sharply, stopping the girl. "Miss Norton, your waist must be brought to a fashionable size. In a few months, you will don a smaller size to increase the progress."

Oh, I was going to bring this to my mother's attention as soon as possible! She, as a singer, knew the value of a person's lung capacity, which I was not able to fill properly with this contraption! I'd be rid of the corset in no time at all!

"Have you heard the terrible news?" the assistant asked as she took my measurements. Hopefully, I could change the measurements with something more reasonable before they began to sew my new dresses. I only shook my head in response to her question, distracted with trying to breathe. "Miss Amelia Johanson has died! Very tragically, too."

Frowning, I focused on what she was saying. Mrs. Stanhope had mentioned the name before. I glanced over to where Mrs. Stanhope was examining cloths. "Was she a client here?" I asked, certain I would not be overheard getting more information.

"She was, Miss," the assistant answered, clearly delighted to have someone to speak to about the matter. "She fell down a flight of stairs."

Nothing sinister then. "Poor girl," I murmured, looking away. I chided myself for feeling disappointed. " It was sad when an accident of that nature occurs. Her family must be very saddened."

"Only I heard it was not truly an accident, and that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has been called into the case! To think I should know a person in one of his cases! Oh, not know personally, you understand. But she had always come here for her clothes. She is the third young lady to come to such a bad end these past few weeks."

Alert, I looked back at her. "Not an accident?" I repeated in puzzlement. What reason would there be to murder a young lady? "The third?

"Yes. She was very close friends with Lady Isabella, and everyone knows what happened to her! And then Miss Meyer, too!"

Did they? I was completely in the dark in the circumstances of Lady Isabella's death and knew only the barest of details regarding Miss Meyer's demise. "Come, get dressed, Miss Norton!" Mrs. Stanhope urged, interrupting the conversation before I could question it any further. "We must continue on."

I growled under my breath at the untimely interruption, but was more than ready to be free of the tight corset. After all, it would make my clothes look far to large and that was not appropriate for a young lady. I would speak to Mother and never put the terrible thing on again!

And, once I was home, I would scour the newspapers for news!

* * *

The moment I stepped into Briony Lodge, I rushed for the kitchen. Leigh, the butler, usually had the newspapers set aside to read at his leisure. He gave me a stern look when I asked for them, but obligingly handed them over. I spread them out on the table right then, and began to scan through the stories.

After nearly a half hour, I gave up hope. There was nothing on the death of Miss Amelia Johanson. I leaned back with a huff. "Did you not find what you're looking for, Miss Serena?" Mrs. Leigh asked, looking over. I shook my head, considering what to do next. "Well, have some tea and pastries. That'll cheer you up."

"No, I'm not hungry," I answered. I sighed, resigned to not knowing the truth of the matter. In all likelihood, Dr. Watson would write the case up and I would then read it in the Strand with the other published cases. "Thank you, Leigh."

"What were you looking for, Miss Serena?" he asked.

"I had heard something untoward happened to a Lady Isabella and was curious for the details, but it is of no matter," I answered. Thoughtfully, I walked upstairs. I did not like not knowing something. Perhaps if I were to visit Mrs. Hudson, I would learn something? "Fool," I whispered, shaking my head. "What does this have to do with you? Nothing."

"Serena? Is that you darling?" Mother called from the music room. "Come here for a moment."

Well, at least I could put an end to this corset business, and I readily went in. Mrs. Stanhope was already there, looking smug. For the first time, I felt a little bit afraid. She was so determined to have her way in things, but I couldn't tell how far she would go in the matter. And, as I had said, not knowing was not good. It put me at a disadvantage.

"Mrs. Stanhope said you were complaining at your fitting, Serena," Mother said, with a disapproving frown. She was seated at the piano, her music spread about her. "I know new corsets can be uncomfortable at first, but it must be done. You cannot dress like a child forever, and we agreed that this must happen."

My jaw dropped. "B-but, Mother!" I protested. Mrs. Stanhope was smiling with triumph. She thought she'd outwitted me. Well, I knew how to use my mind! "I have no objection to the change! I object to the size of my waist that she intends to inflict on me! I must be able to breathe, else how will I be able to practice singing?"

Mrs. Stanhope's smile faded slightly. "It cannot be that bad," Mother said, turning her attention to my governess. "How narrow did you say you wished Serena's waist to become?"

"I didn't say, Mrs. Norton," my governess answered, attempting to deflect the question. Mother frowned. "Its nothing to be concerned with. You know Miss Norton dislikes the changes that are necessary for a young lady. And I fear she is protesting because of her dislike of me and my methods. The size is what is expected of a young lady."

"Mother, I could not breathe!" I continued, pressing my point. "And she said I would receive a tighter one in a few months."

"Mrs. Stanhope, that is simply not acceptable," Mother said firmly, coming to a quick decision. "I appreciate that you are of an old-fashioned frame of mind, and my husband deemed that an important quality. However, this disfiguring of a young ladies figure for fashion is appalling to me, and I will not allow it to happen to my daughter."

I grinned in happiness, but saw that my governess was less than pleased. "As you say, Mrs. Norton," Mrs. Stanhope said, her tone tight.

Nodding once, Mother turned back to her music. Happy of my victory, I removed myself to my room. A death that was not accident, but for all intent and purposes sounded like an accident. That would occupy my mind for some time!


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: I'd like to take a moment to thank my anonymous reviewers (as I have no other way of doing so excepted here), especially 'Latona' who offered me the great compliment of informing me that my writing has improved between Scandal's Daughter and this one. Thank you! All reviews make my day!**_

* * *

I should have foreseen that Mrs. Stanhope would not take my victory well. The very next day, when the fog kept us all in, she found me sketching the front of 221 Baker Street, she took action. "I told you not draw such common things," she snapped impatiently. "And where is the watercolor you promised? Do not tell me that you go back on your word, Miss Norton!"

"It is on the easel," I answered patiently, nodding to where the object stood by the window where the light was best.

Huffing, Mrs. Stanhope pulled my sketchbook from me, ignoring my cry of protest. "You have an unhealthy obsession, Miss Serena Norton."

Bristling at the accusation, I lifted my chin. "How so?"

"This fascination with that common detective, Sherlock Holmes," Mrs. Stanhope clarified swiftly. "I know of those pamphlets of yours. It is beyond absurd that you read them! And it will come to an end. Your parents have charged with educating in subjects a young lady should know, and I will do so to the best of my ability, whether you enjoy the process or not."

She turned on her heel and stalked across the room with a haughty determination. I saw what her target was in an instant and I sprang up, shoving my chair back. "No!" I protested. "Mrs. Stanhope! Please, no!"

"These pamphlets are nothing for a young lady to be polluting her mind with, and I have borne it long enough!" Mrs. Stanhope declared. She grabbed the few pamphlets that I had left in the schoolroom, having wanted them on hand to consult. "I am shocked your parents have not done anything to stop this. But I shall rise to the task and dispose of these...appalling items!"

With a dismissive gesture, she tossed my treasured monographs, written and given to me by Sherlock Holmes himself, into the fire. I flung myself at the hearth as the flames caught onto the papers. I grabbed the closest item, a fire iron, and knocked the monographs out. Mrs. Stanhope caught my wrist as I moved to put out the flames.

"Let them burn," she ordered. "You cannot need such information."

Wrenching my arm free, I glared at her. "They are my personal belongings!" I hissed. I used my skirt to smother the flames, but the papers were scorched black. Destroyed. Tears welled up, but I blinked them back. "You have no right to destroy them! They were a gift to me!"

"Lessons are done for today," Mrs. Stanhope decided, ignoring me. "You may have the rest of the afternoon to yourself."

I was left, sitting on my knees on the floor, as she swept out of the room like she was the queen. Resisting the temptation to throw something at the door she'd gone out, I leaned over my destroyed papers. I ran my finger over one blackened edge and watched the paper crumble under my touch. There would be no salvaging any of them.

"Oh, look. Paper ash _is_ different from coal ash," I remarked to no one in particular, my tone dull. I knocked the monographs back into the fire and sat back. I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down.

Where would I be able replace these? I had studied them, yes, but was by no means certain I would be able to remember every valuable fact that they had contained. And even if I could, they would not hold the same value to me. Mr. Holmes had sent them to me after I had left London, and had been the last I had heard from the famous detective.

My head came up as I realized I had the rest of the monographs in my room, in plain sight on the table by my bed. What would stop Mrs. Stanhope from destroying those as well? I scrambled to my feet, feeling a bit breathless from the tight corset she'd forced me into. I rushed for my room, hoping I would be in time.

They were already gone. This time, I did cry. I hadn't even read a few of them! I sagged onto the floor, covering my face with my hands. And I had been so happy over getting those stupid pastries! I should have known Mrs. Stanhope would find some way of breaking me!

My bedroom door opened. "Miss Serena!" Mrs Leigh exclaimed. She rushed to my side. "Why, whatever is the matter?"

"She burned the monographs!" I cried, feeling my loss keenly.

I felt Mrs. Leigh stiffen. She had often scolded me for my reading material. "I have had enough of that woman!" she declared. "She thinks she is so very high above us all! Well, I will not have her destroying my lamb's things!"

Her old nickname for me brought a weak smile to my face. "You haven't called me that in years."

"This will put you to rights," Mrs. Leigh said, pressing a newspaper into my hand. She left me as I unfolded the paper.

The front page article detailed the break in at the house of the Duke of Rochester's house while the duke and duchess were out. Lady Elisabeth, seventeen years old, had been left behind, suffering from a headache. She'd been shot when she walked in on the intruder. She'd died instantly, and all of her jewels were missing, taken by the villain who'd shot her down.

I leaned against my bed as I considered the whole of it. It had been only two weeks since the occurrence, and her friend fell down stairs now? There had to be a connection. But what?

Taking a deep breath, I stood up. I knew exactly where to go.

* * *

Convincing Mrs. Leigh to escort me to 221 Baker Street took several hours. However much she may be on my side against Mrs. Stanhope, she did not want to neglect her work. Finally, though, I wore her down and she agreed to take me the next morning.

First thing when Father got home, I went to him with what Mrs. Stanhope had done and, quite respectfully, requested that another governess be found for me. Someone who would respect my way of thinking and would not destroy my things in an attempt to change me. Almost _anyone _would be preferable!

Father said he would speak to Mrs. Stanhope and advised me to give the woman a chance. Citing having work, he dismissed me. Less than happy with his decision, I kissed his cheek and left. Coming to London had separated me from my father's company more than I liked. And given that he'd found papers that had threatened our family before, I worried the same would happen once again.

With my mind heavy with serious thoughts, I dressed with care to make the visit to Baker Street. Smoothing the dark blue fabric of my walking dress, I regarded my appearance in the mirror and carefully pinned my hat into place. I'd grown in the past six months, though I still had the beanpole straight figure as before.

Shaking my head, I hurried downstairs, fervently hoping to avoid Mrs. Stanhope. She'd either insist on going with me or try to keep from going in the first place! As it was, she'd be furious that I was skipping my lessons this morning.

Looking disapproving, Mrs. Leigh was waiting for me at the door. The ride from Briony Lodge to Baker Street was not long at all. The fog had lifted enough that I was able to watch the buildings go by, delighting to recognize landmarks every now and then. Mrs. Leigh was not as enthusiastic by the view, as she had a strong dislike for anything but the countryside.

Baker Street had changed very little, 221 was exactly the same. I stood on the sidewalk looking up at it, remembering all that had happened within its walls. My hand stole to my throat as I recalled the attack on my life.

"Miss Serena, you are looking pale," Mrs. Leigh said in concern. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I answered quickly. I strode up to the door and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Leigh fidgeted uncomfortably beside me, unused to using the front door. The door was opened a few moments later by a young maid who peered at us quizzically but without surprise. "I am Miss Norton, and I am here to see Mrs. Hudson."

Surprise filled the girl's face. "Mrs. Hudson?" she repeated.

"Yes, child," Mrs. Leigh said impatiently, reacting with her housekeeper's instinct. "That is what Miss Norton has said."

Flushing at the implied correction, the maid stepped back to allow us in. She left us standing in the foyer and hurried away to find the housekeeper of 221 Baker Street. It was no more than a minute and I saw the familiar, grandmotherly figure of Mrs. Hudson hurrying towards me. A smile curved my lips as I stepped forward, holding my hands out.

"Mrs. Hudson! You haven't changed at all!" I declared.

"Miss Norton!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed in answer. She brushed at her skirt. I must have pulled her from her work. "I had no notion you were in town. I'm sorry. Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson are not in at the moment."

"But it is you I have come to see!" I informed her. I gestured to my companion. I really hoped they would get on. "May I introduce you to Mrs. Leigh, who has looked after me for as long as I could remember. Mrs. Leigh this is Mrs. Hudson, who looked after me while I was here."

The two older women nodded at each other. "Come into my sitting room," Mrs. Hudson invited. I smiled in delight, accepting her hospitality.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Because I am sick and bored, you get a chapter early. Hope someone out there is enjoying this.**_

* * *

Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Leigh seemed to became fast friends within minutes. I sipped my tea as they exchanged advice regarding household matters and then they delved into anecdotes about me. My face burned red, much to their amusement.

In the middle of our business, a bell rang insistently. "That will be Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson said, getting to her feet.

An idea hit, and I couldn't keep from smirking. "Let me make his tea, Mrs. Hudson!" I said, standing up. "I want to see if he can taste the difference!"

"Miss Serena!" Mrs. Leigh chided.

But Mrs. Hudson was smiling. She remembered how I loved to test out Mr. Holmes' skills. "Very well, Miss," she said, settling back down. "You prepare it and send it up with Emma."

Grinning broadly, I hurried to the kitchen. The maid had already begun to get the necessary items around. She gaped at me as I went straight to where Mrs. Hudson's apron always hung. "M-miss!" she stammered as I tied the apron on. She stood with the cream in her hand, which was very nearly on the brink of falling to the floor. "What are you-?"

Not feeling like explaining, I smiled at the girl who couldn't have been much younger than me. "Thank you, Emma," I said. "I shall be preparing Mr. Holmes' tea this morning. Please do not break Mrs. Hudson's tea set."

She recovered herself in time to keep the cream from spilling out. Within minutes, as the water was already hot, I had the tea tray ready. Looking shaken, Emma picked up the tray and hurried out. I took off the apron and took a glance around the kitchen where I had spent so much time. It, too, was unchanged.

Sentimentality of a sort I knew Mr. Holmes would find ridiculous! I shook my head at my own foolishness and returned to Mrs. Hudson's sitting room to wait for Holmes' reaction.

It was not a long wait at all.

In fact, I had just sat down when a figure filled the doorway. "Miss Norton," Sherlock Holmes said as Mrs. Leigh and Mrs. Hudson jumped to their feet with a housekeeper's natural reaction. I roe more slowly, a pleased smile appearing on my face. "If I may have a moment of your time, I wish to consult you on a matter."

Consult me? Well, that was unexpected. "Certainly," I managed to respond.

When Mrs. Leigh moved to accompany me, he held up his hand to stop her. "Your housekeeper need not accompany us," he said, making poor Mrs. Leigh stare in astonishment. "Dr. Watson is also with me, therefore there be no concern for the propriety of the situation. Come, Miss Norton."

Trusting Mrs. Hudson to calm Mrs. Leigh, I hurried along behind the consulting detective. He looked as he had when I last saw him six months previous. "A very terrible governess, then, Miss Norton?" Holmes asked as he led the way up the stairs.

My breath caught in my throat. I knew how he was and yet he could still astound me! "Why, yes," I answered. "How did you-?"

"A young lady of your age would normally be trapped in a school room at this time of year. That you are not implies that you have a governess, for your parents are not ones to neglect your education. However, it is not a governess you escorted you here; it is your family housekeeper. Thus, I can only deduce that you dislike your governess," Mr. Holmes responded, his tone matter of fact, and yet slightly smug.

A laugh bubbled up. "You have the right of it, Mr. Holmes," I told him. "I have particular reason to dislike my current governess. She is quite opposed to a young lady using her mind and to punish me, burned all of your monographs."

Stepping aside to let me through first, Mr. Holmes raised an eyebrow at me. "Indeed?"

"Miss Norton!" Dr. Watson exclaimed, coming towards me. "I didn't believe when Holmes said you had invaded Mrs. Hudson's kitchen! What brings you back to Baker Street? No further trouble, I hope."

"Not at all," I answered, smiling at the kindly doctor. "Mr. Holmes has said he wishes to consult me."

Watson threw a shocked look at his friend. "Well this is news indeed!"

"No need to sound so surprised, Watson," Holmes said. He gestured for me to take a seat and then did so himself, once I had lowered myself into a chair. "I always make use of resources at hand. Who better to give insight into a young ladies mind than a young lady who is known to be capable herself? Miss Norton, if you would pour the tea while I explain the details."

"Miss Amelia Johanson's death, is it not?" I asked as I began to pour.

"Exactly so," Holmes responded, unruffled by my knowledge of this fact. "A young lady does not simply fall down a flight of stairs, especially not one who is not in the habit of being unsteady on her feet. I believe it to be connected to Lady Elisabeth, the daughter of the Duke of Rochester's, untimely death earlier this month."

"You have no proof of that, Holmes," Dr. Watson interjected. "The duke will not speak to you. You do not know the full account behind the burglary."

Holmes frowned at the interruption. "I have spoken to the servants in the duke's household," he said. "A single paper was found that had drawn on the lower part of the page: a buttercup. Another such paper was found in Miss Johnason's hand."

A buttercup? I frowned, remembering my friend Jane's letter. "You know something?" Holmes demanded, seeing my expression.

"I'm not sure. Possibly," I answered slowly. "Before coming to London, I received a letter from a school friend. Her sister died in an accident. But there was a sketch of a buttercup on the bottom of her letter. She had never done that before, which is why it caught my attention."

"The name?" Holmes demanded, springing up. He was at his files and papers in an instant.

"The family is Meyer," I told him. As he rifled through the mess, I turned to Dr. Watson. "Why exactly does Mr. Johanson think that there is foul play involved in his daughter's death?"

"He says that Miss Johanson had been acting very strangely," the good doctor responded. He was keeping a close watch on his friend. His notebook was open and his pencil ready. "He and his wife had tried to discover what was wrong, but the girl would not say. While he believes a distraction of the mind led to her fall, he wishes to know what caused her to be so distant."

"Ah, Miss Emily Meyer," Holmes said triumphantly, pulling a newspaper free of a stack. "Killed by a hackney running over her in a street. It was deemed an accident. Most intriguing."

What a terrible way to die! And while Mr. Holmes seemed fascinated by that fact, there was something else that was bothering me. One thing I had learned from Mrs. Stanhope was the language of flowers. A buttercup could stand for ingratitude, childishness, or a desire for riches. Why would debutantes, on the verge of coming out into society, choose such a flower to decorate their stationary?

"You are frowning again, Miss Serena," Holmes said, getting my attention. He'd dropped my last name for a more informal address. "What is it now?"

Would a man understand the language and symbols behind flowers? I could only hope he would not dismiss it as frivolous! "Buttercups stand for ingratitude," I explained. "Also, a desire for riches. No young lady would use it as it does not convey a very pleasant meaning. Perhaps...it was meant as a warning?"

The last was a bit of a stretch, but Holmes nodded thoughtfully as he returned to where I and Dr. Watson sat. "An excellent notion," he said. "One must be aware of the symbolism of flowers to understand that it is a code of sorts, else it will look merely like a woman's decoration. So, all three young ladies received a warning."

I flushed with pleasure at having been of help. "Why would they need to be warned?" Watson asked.

"What manner of warning is it?" Holmes mused. "A warning that their lives were in danger from someone meaning to help? Or a warning from the villain behind their deaths?"

"Were the warnings for them in the first place?" I questioned, in an attempt to think on all lines of reasoning. "Or meant for those who also know the code and who would leave it?"

Holmes looked at me with a slight expression of surprise. "You have indeed inherited your mother's wit," he commented, very quietly, almost to himself. He continued on, at a more level tone of voice, "You present very good questions, Miss Serena. You see, Watson? Always make use of whatever is around."

Dr. Watson had been jotting all of this down in his notebook. "What do you plan on doing next?" he asked.

"The maids," I offered. Both men looked at me. "Maids hear everything. Especially ladies maids. They know every secret of their mistresses."

At least, that's what the girls at school had said. Thanks to what my father called Mother's "American sensibilities", I did not have a maid. Mrs. Leigh was the closest person I had to confide in. Save for Mother.

"They know nothing," Holmes said dismissively. "Naturally, that was the first line of inquiry I pursued." He tapped the arm of chair. "The young ladies all have another item in common. Their fathers are in connected to Parliament in one fashion or another."

Frowning thoughtfully, I sat back in my chair. What was so secret that Amelia Johanson, Emily Meyer, and Lady Elisabeth hadn't spoken of it to anyone? "I wish I could be of more help," I said.

"You have clarified the situation," Holmes responded. "The case has a farther reach than I first realized."

A clock chimed the time and I realized how much time had gone by. "I should return home," I said, standing up. I hesitated but decided to say it anyway. "If you should need to consult me again, you know where Briony lodge is."

Dr. Watson rose to see me out, but Holmes seemed to be locked in his own thoughts. "I hope you appreciate what Holmes just did," the doctor said as soon as we stepped out into the hallway. "Your mother was the only woman I ever heard him speak respectfully of. To have him seek out the opinion of a young lady at all is...astonishing!"

I believe everyone who read the Strand knew of Sherlock Holmes' low opinion of a woman's mental capacity. Irene Adler, my mother, had managed to rise in his esteem when she escaped him by marrying my father and leaving London. Had I joined her in the ranks of the only females to be viewed by him as being intelligent?

"I won't let it go to my head," I responded. "As Mr. Holmes said, I know what young ladies think."


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. Holmes' case stayed on my mind. Even when Mrs. Stanhope scolded and berated me for having gone off, I barely heard, thinking about the death of the three young ladies. I was painting a watercolor, at my governess' insistence, when it occurred to me that I hadn't considered what connected them besides the buttercup sketch.

Dropping the brush, I rushed for a paper to write it down before I forgot. Amelia Johanson and Lady Elisabeth had been friends. Had they known Emily Meyer as well? They must have.

"Miss Norton, what are you doing?" Mrs. Stanhope demanded.

What other friends would they have had? Perhaps they had even shared other acquaintances? My hand stilled, not finishing that question. Friends. That was it! In a circle of close friends, there were no secrets. I had often observed that such was the case at school. If these young ladies did not confide in their maids, they would have confided in their friends.

"You have not finished your work!"

"They will still be here in London," I breathed, my mind racing. I had to send a message to Mr. Holmes! But, no. They would never tell him. They had to know by now that whatever secret they had was dangerous, and fear reprisal. A strange man would not get through to them. And Miss Johanson's parents had tried without success to reach her.

Suddenly, my cheek stung with pain. I recoiled, bringing my hand up to my cheek. Shocked, I looked at my governess. Her face was flushed as she lowered her own hand. She'd slapped me.

"I have dealt with difficult girls before, Miss Norton," she informed me, her tone even. "I have never failed before. There is a specific role for a young lady, and I will make sure you will meet the requirements for it."

"Y-you hit me!" I stammered. Anger filled me and I raised my chin. "I'm telling my parents! They will not stand for this!"

I had only taken a step when she laughed. "Do you think you will win, Miss Norton?" she asked. I spun to face her. "Do you know why parents, like yours, hire me? Someone well in years with experience from dozens of positions? Its because they have a rebellious child. A child who cannot be controlled by normal standards."

"Difficult girls," I snapped back, refusing to believe what she was trying to imply. My parents have never tried to control me! I was not a difficult girl! "Yes, I heard you. I fail to see what this all has to do with me."

"A governess of my caliber grooms such difficult girls into proper young ladies," she said, as though I hadn't spoken. "You may complain to your parents, but it will not help your cause in anyway. They have brought me in as a last resort because you are terribly independent. But you won't be by the time I am finished with you."

No. It couldn't be true! "You're lying!" I accused. "My mother is proud I use my mind!"

"But is your father?" Mrs Stanhope challenged. She sat down and opened her book. "Certain women may fight for rights in this world, but men are the ones in control. In the end, it is your father's decision."

Breathing hard, I stared at her. Jerking around, I stormed for the door. I could hear Mother downstairs, playing and singing, practicing for a performance. I couldn't bother her now. Father was gone, as he so often was now. I had no one.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It calmed me slightly, but doubt, anger, and fear continued to make my stomach twist. Father and I had grown apart the older I became. He was the most disappointed by my antics. But would he have brought Mrs. Stanhope to...to break me and my spirit?

The fact that I didn't know frightened me. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I hurried to my room. I sank onto my bed. "No wonder Mr. Holmes spoke against emotion," I murmured. It was horribly distracting and made a mess of everything!

I had to focus on something else. I would leave Mrs. Stanhope's...talk until I could deal with it sensibly. Mr. Holmes' case needed to be solved. Getting him more information to do that would give me something to do, and my mind could finally put to use everything I had learned from the detective. And I already knew what I had to do.

Simply put, I needed to figure out how to become the intimate friends of the debutantes of this season!

* * *

Locking myself into my room, I searched out everything that I would need for the evening. Dress, accessories, shoes. I already had a way to the night's event. No one would voice a complaint if I arrived with Mother for the performance. I just needed to make myself look a little older than my fourteen years as I doubted the debutantes would befriend anyone younger than themselves.

Spreading the evening dress out, I regarded it with dislike. Not only was the yellow color one I particularly detested, it had been made with the measurements taken when I had been confined by the tight corset. It was the only appropriate gown I had, though, and so I would have to wear it.

Getting into the garment was easier said than done. I finally had to call a maid to help. Now, more than ever, I understood the relationship between a mistress and lady's maid! Anyone who ties your corset everyday, and puts you in yours clothes should not be ignored. And the maid has total control when it comes to your hair.

It took some time to get myself completely ready. I found myself taking light, shallow breaths. "I hope I don't faint," I said as I pulled on the long white gloves to complete my look.

"You look beautiful, Miss," the maid said, looking envious.

Smiling, I studied my appearance and decided the beautiful was too generous a word. I made an inventory to make sure I had everything. Fan, on my wrist. Reticule with smelling salts and other necessary small items, also dangling by a string from my wrist. Well, I felt pen and pencil necessary and could think of no other way to carry them!

"The carriage has pulled up," the maid warned me.

As quickly as I could, I left my room. Mother and Father were in the foyer already. Mrs. Stanhope was standing to the side, assuring them she would make sure I behaved. "Mother, Father!" I called out, slowing to glide down the stairs as a graceful young lady. "I was hoping I would be able to accompany you tonight."

They turned to me and surprise filled their faces. I didn't dare look at my governess. "Serena!" Father exclaimed, walking towards me. "You look lovely."

"You did not say anything earlier," Mother said, sounding puzzled. I'd never gone to a private performance before or even shown an interest in doing so.

"I know," I responded. "But, I would like to."

I waited for their decision, hoping they would allow me the privilege. Otherwise, I would have to employ some kind of subterfuge.

Father leaned down and kissed my cheek. His mustache tickled my skin. "Certainly," he said. "What a lady you are, Serena! I'm very proud of you."

As my mind rejoiced to have succeeded, my heart fell. Father wanted me to be a lady, and he would attribute this to Mrs. Stanhope. Now, I did look over at my governess. She looked as though she was fuming, though I wasn't sure why. I looked like a proper young lady, just as she wished. I graced her with a smile as I followed my parents out.

Now, to see just how well my acting skills were!


	6. Chapter 6

For being a private affair, it was crowded in Lord Everough's house. I smiled and acknowledged one introduction after another. I made sure I stayed on the edge of the room, searching out the young ladies in attendance.

"Lemonade, Miss Norton?"

Startled by the voice near my ear, I turned and found a mustached, tall footman, holding a tray with a single glass of lemonade on it. I'd been afraid only champagne or other similar drinks would be offered. "Thank you," I said automatically, lifting the glass from the tray. As I did, I realized that he had used my name and that I knew the grey eyes peering at me.

Mr. Holmes.

He was gone before I could say anything, though. I chuckled as I faced the room again. I wasn't the only one in disguise here.

I remained standing when my mother took center stage. She sang her favorite Wagner pieces. My eyes wandered the room. Most of the audience was paying rapt attention. Several young ladies, though, were moving their fans in manner that I knew in an instant. Every girl by the age of thirteen knew the messages that could be conveyed with a fan.

Lord Everough's daughter, Kathleen, and four other young ladies whom I had not been introduced to were communicating. I watched them, trying to figure out the conversation as I had missed several fan movements. One of the young ladies rested her closed fan against her waist and tapped four times. That I did not recognize.

Miss Everough and the other three girls brought their fans up to rest against their right cheek. _Yes. _They were acknowledging that something would happen. Or was already happening? Miss Everough looked particularly pale and nervous, for some reason.

The first young lady was twirling the fan in her left hand when I looked at her again. _We are being watched. _Swiftly, all the ladies dropped their fans to their laps and focused on the singing. I'd been spotted. The lady who'd warned her friends caught my eye and raised an eyebrow at me. I touched the tip of my fan with my finger.

_I wish to speak to you. _

Her fan moved to her left cheek, rested there a second, and then dropped. _No. _She looked away, her manner haughty.

Pursing my lips, I scanned the audience again. There were several empty chairs where there hadn't been before. Slowly, I began to walk towards the closest door. Something was happening now. I slipped out into the cooler hallway. On the pretext of fixing a small tear in my dress, I made my way up the stairs to the small rooms set aside for such a purpose.

Besides the bustle of the servants, it was quiet and became quieter the further from the main level. I heard the quiet creak of a door opening somewhere nearby. It was a slow, drawn out sound, as though whoever was behind it did not want to be heard. That did not bode well! Moving as quickly and quietly as I could, I hurried towards the sound.

A shadowy figure moved across the hallway. I must have made some sound for the man -I was certain it was a man- turned towards me. I went still, unsure what to do now that I found myself in the situation. The light was too dim for me to see anything as I stared at the intruder. He must have been staring at me in return because for a moment, he didn't move either.

Then, he bolted. "Stop!" I exclaimed, lunging forward. My dress was not made for such sudden moments, and I heard the rip of fabric. It also kept me from breathing and after a few yards, I had to stop, struggling to get air. That accursed tight corset!

"Which way?" Holmes demanded, suddenly beside me. I wasn't surprised.

Unable to speak, I pointed in the direction the intruder had gone. Holmes raced into the shadows and I was left on my own again.

"Miss, are you all right?" a maid asking, hurrying towards me. "I heard someone cry out."

"Yes, yes," I managed to say. "I-I lost my way."

"Let me help you," she offered. "I'll find some pins for that tear."

Well, this night was going wonderfully!

* * *

The seam was pinned back in place and I returned to the ballroom. Mother's concert was over, and musicians were in place. "You look flushed, Serena," Father said when I joined him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I assured him.

"Mr. Norton, may I have the privilege of dancing with your daughter?" a young man requested, offering a slight bow.

"Certainly, Kennedy," Father responded. "Serena, this is Quentin Kennedy."

The young man held his hand out to me without a word. I wasn't even going to be asked if I even _wanted_ to dance? His eyes were studying me, with the hint of a challenge. "Thank you, sir," I said, walking forward. He had to scramble to catch up to me as I strode towards the dancing couples. I faced him. "It would be my honor."

"You're one of those independent types, aren't you?" Kennedy asked as he stepped closer. He pulled me into the waltz.

"I know my own mind."

At least spinning around the room would give me the opportunity to see more of the other guests. I caught a look of jealousy from...all five of the fan communicating young ladies? Why was that? It couldn't possibly be because of who I was dancing with, could it? I gave my partner my attention. He was not terribly handsome, and he had an arrogant bearing in the way he moved.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

"I'm trying to discover your character," I said bluntly. "Why are you here?"

He laughed. "To enjoy the company of charming young ladies, such as yourself, Miss Norton," he answered. "Also, I am Lord Everough's right hand man."

"And will you do great deeds with your life? Or just accept the credit that comes your way for helping someone else do great things?"

Kennedy frowned at me. "You are an odd lady."

A hand tapped his shoulder and a taller, dark haired man interrupted the dance. "If I may?" he asked.

With a bow, Kennedy took himself off and I continued dancing with my new partner. "I've never seen you before," the unnamed man remarked, studying me as intently as my previous partner had. "This will be your first season?"

"This is my first party," I answered, evading the question. "And you are...?"

"Jeremiah Graves," he answered. And with that, he began to make light remarks on the company for the rest of the dance.

Barely a moment had passed when the waltz finished, and I was surrounded by other young men. This, I had not anticipated. Dancing was not conducive to watching for odd behavior! I could think of no graceful way to decline, and could only hope that Mr. Holmes had caught the intruder.


	7. Chapter 7

It was difficult rising the next morning. Mrs. Stanhope forced me out of bed at my usual hour and began to drill me on etiquette, manners, and the proper ranking of nobility. I suppose it was a punishment, but I could barely keep my eyes open. When a ruler smacked my arm, though, I was more than awake.

In the middle of the morning, the front bell rang. In the middle of a boring French recitation, I paused. We hardly ever had any visitors! The ruler against my arm was a reminder to continue reciting, which I did with resentment in my voice.

"Miss Norton, your mother is requesting your presence in the drawing room," the maid announced. "You have a visitor."

"Miss Norton is having her lessons," Mrs. Stanhope said sharply.

I was already moving though, far enough from her reach that I would not need to fear the descent of the ruler on any of my limbs. "Thank you, Sally," I said, grateful for the interruption. Who had come to visit me?

"Miss Serena," Mr. Holmes greeted as I entered the room.

Any traces of sleepiness that I'd clung to despite the ruler, fled as soon as I saw the consulting detective sitting with Mother. "Mr. Holmes!" I exclaimed with delight. I hurried to join them. "Do you have news?"

Mother looked at me with a smile. "Serena, why didn't you tell me you'd spoken to Mr. Holmes about a case of his?" she asked. "He has been telling me about the details and that you were able to clear some details up."

Embarrassment caused my cheeks to flush. "The intruder escaped, and all clues he may have left behind were destroyed by all the servants milling around," Holmes answered, sounding very put out. "Certain documents of a sensitive nature were discovered missing when I urged Lord Everough to check."

Sensitive documents? I thought over that as I heard Mrs. Stanhope come into the room. "And have other documents gone missing?" I asked. Mrs. Stanhope took up position behind me, resting her hand on the back of the chair. I couldn't keep from flinching on instinct. I looked to Holmes, waiting for his answer.

But his eyes had narrowed. "Mrs. Norton, are you aware that your daughter's governess has struck Miss Serena on several occasions?" he asked, looking at Mother.

Oh, dear. Mother's hands tightened on the arms of her chair. "No, I was not," she responded. She knew better than to question how he knew such a thing. "Serena?"

"Mrs. Norton, I was given leave to oversee Miss Norton's education," Mrs. Stanhope spoke up before I could. "Discipline is necessary, you must agree."

"Miss Annabelle Stanhope has been dismissed from five schools for unnecessary cruelty in dealing with young ladies who were not quick to follow her strictures," Holmes said. Behind me, Mrs. -no, Miss!- Stanhope gasped. "She has also lost eight positions in the last four years when it was discovered that she caused harm to her charges."

I'm sure none of this came up in her references! I twisted in my seat to see her. "It is a lie!" she gasped out.

"She has also been suspected of stealing silver from the houses she's been in," Holmes added as though this particular fact had just come back to him.

"Mrs. Stanhope, if you will please return to your rooms, I'm sure my husband will wish to have words with you when he returns and hears of this," Mother said, her tone like stone. Mrs. Stanhope sputtered for a moment and then stormed out. "I do apologize for inflicting a domestic affair on you, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes waved a hand. "Not at all, Mrs. Norton," he responded. "In answer to your question, Miss Serena, yes. Several documents have come up missing, not only from the families of the three dead girls but also from Mr. Ian Wetherby."

It was relief to move from my governess to the case at hand! Caroline Wetherby was one of the girls I had observed the night before. "Were those poor girls killed as a distraction?" Mother asked, looking as though she'd forgotten completely about what had been revealed about Mrs. Stanhope.

"An interesting notion, Mrs. Norton," Holmes said. "But I can see from your daughter's expression that she doesn't think so."

At some point I was really going to have to learn not to show my feelings on my face! "I think," I said slowly. "I think that the girls knew the papers would be stolen."

Mother frowned and Holmes leaned forward. "Why do you think that?"

"Last night, I observed five young ladies communicating by means of fans," I answered. Holmes nodded to show he was aware of the tradition. "They indicated they knew something was either about to happen or was occurring right then. They may simply view it as a lark, a bit of fun. A way to relieve the boredom."

"Why would young ladies choose such a traitorous method of relieving boredom?" Mother asked in astonishment.

Nodding his head, Holmes looked understanding. "Boredom, Madam Norton, can be unendurable at times," he answered. "However, Miss Serena's theory does beg the question of who the young ladies have to steal the papers. It was a man I chased last night. Tall, average weight, very athletic. Not a young lady in disguise."

Thoughtfully, Mother hummed a note. "That was what I was going to suggest," she said. "I had played men's roles when I was on stage. It is not too difficult. But, you would know, of course."

"A young man with ties to another country, perhaps, has gotten their confidences," Holmes suggested. "I suspected that the man hide himself in plain sight by rejoining the party after he had stolen the documents."

I had noticed many tall men at the gathering, and had even danced with a few. Quentin Keendy came immediately to mind. He'd been arrogant and sure of himself, and far to charming for his own good, if the way he had flirted with the other young ladies was anything to go by. "Then, perhaps an examination of the guest lists for all the events held by the families will yield something," Mother suggested.

Getting to his feet, Holmes nodded. "I have studied those lists, and they have yielded nothing of any benefit beyond a useless knowledge of what the kind of company they keep. Very few similarities among the four houses." He reached for his hat. "Thank you for your insights, Mrs. Nortan, Miss Serena. I feel I will have this case solved quite soon."

"Pardon me, Mr. Holmes, but what trap do you intend to set?" I asked.

Holmes raised an eyebrow at me. "And why, pray tell, Miss Serena, do you imagine that I will be setting a trap?"

"It is...a reasonable, logical, assumption," I said in defense of my question. "You know that another attempt for sensitive documents will be made, for the criminal has not been at all deterred or caught. He will be feeling bolder. A trap, where he is caught in the act, will prove all, and you will have the villain you seek."

His bark of laughter that came, startled me as it always had in the past. "You must be very proud of your daughter, Madam Norton," he said. "Where most fourteen year old young ladies have their heads in the clouds, never to come down to the facts of life, Miss Serena reasons with the clarity of any man. Were that there were more such exemplary examples of your sex in the world, I may be forced to revise my opinion of the whole instead of seeing you both as exceptions that are above them all!"

Feeling absolutely floored by his declaration, I blinked in surprise. Mother smiled serenely. "My husband and I are immensely proud of the way Serena uses her mind."

"You presume correctly, Miss Serena, I have a trap in mind," Holmes said to me. "One that I believe your family will assist in." He made the slightest of bows. "I will contact you with further instructions when necessary. Good day, Madam, Miss Serena."

He strode out of the room. Breathing out, I looked at Mother. "Well, isn't that interesting?" she asked. "Now, shall we have your music lesson early? I haven't heard you practice the piano at all these past few days, and you know how I feel about that. Your singing must be perfection to avoid my wrath, my dear."

How could I explain that between Holmes' case and Mrs. Stanhope's lessons, I hadn't had a chance to even think of music? "I shall do my best, Mother," I responded.

All I could do now was wait. I disliked waiting.

* * *

Mrs. Stanhope left Briony Lodge that night, without luggage or a bag of any kind. I spotted Mrs. Leigh going into the governess' room, a determined expression on her face. I assumed that all of Mrs. Stanhope's things would be sent after her, after they had been checked quite thoroughly for any items that did not belong to her.

I was not surprised at all at the summons to my father's study. I crept in, unsure of his mood. He was standing behind his desk, a stern expression on his face. "Please have a seat, Serena," he instructed. "You know, of course, that Mrs. -Miss- Stanhope has been let go?"

"Yes."

"Why did you not tell me of the way she was abusing you?"

Shame made my cheeks flood with color. "She inferred that it was why you had hired her," I answered honestly. I could see that I should have run to him at the first strike. "I didn't want to disappoint you."

"I must have Mr. Sherlock Holmes come into my house before I am made aware that my daughter is being treated disrespectfully!" my father snapped angrily. He brought his fist down on his desk, making me jump. "It is always that man! You mother has admired him since she matched wits so many ago, and now he is your protector!"

Is that what this was about? My father was jealous of Sherlock Holmes? "Papa?"

Sighing, my father raised a hand to his face. "What reason would you have to think I would ever be disappointed in you?"

"Because I'm not like the other young ladies," I answered honestly, my voice quiet. "I accuse men of being murderers, and I'm right when I do so. I watch people and I like to use my mind to figure puzzles out."

Coming around the desk, Father knelt by my chair, putting his arm around me. "I am proud of you for those facts," he said. He pressed a kiss onto my cheek. "My daughter is no hen-witted girl who only dreams of a brilliant marriage." He paused. "Though a little decorum on your part wouldn't go amiss, I wouldn't change you for the world."

Laughing, I threw my arms around his neck. "Sherlock Holmes is not my father," I told him. "You are, and I wouldn't trade you for anyone!"

Shaking his head, Father disentangled himself from my embrace. "Now, your mother has explained this case you have been assisting in," he informed me. "Have you done anything that I should worry about?"

I hesitated. "Yes," I answered, drawing the word out. "I may have tried to chase an intruder."

"Tried?"

"I couldn't breathe and my dress kept tripping me up!"

With a chuckle, Father shook his head again. "Before I know it, you will have princes and kings at your beck and call, just as your mother did before I met her."

"Certainly not!" I protested.

"Or you shall be at the beck and call of every criminal in London," Father continued. "I don't know which is the worse scenario."

Cautiously, I considered him. "You are not angry with me then?"

"Only that you did not come to me sooner. I trust you will not make such a mistake again in the future?"

Relieved, I shook my head and hugged him again. Finally, there was peace in my family as there hadn't been for some time. I was certain of my parents accepting me for who I was and I was free of Mrs. Stanhope. Now, the only thing I had to fear was what manner of governess would be inflicted on me next!

Oh, and there was still a murderer and traitor to catch.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: A few days late. Sorry about that. Hope someone's still enjoying this!**_

* * *

Several days passed with no word from Holmes, and I was not taking the delay patiently. With no governess, I was left to my own devices. With a maid in tow, I set out to explore London as I hadn't had a chance before. I visited the British Museum and then Madame Tussauds Waxworks, resisting the opportunity to visit 221 Baker Street afterward.

Twice, I accompanied my parents to one of my mother's private performances. Thankfully, gowns that were not so restricting or tight were delivered, and I could breathe as I observed the gathered guests. I did not see any strange fan movements, to my disappointment. I did learn the names of the young ladies I'd observed previously.

I even became better acquainted with two of them, Miss Agatha Willoughby and Miss Lydia Ferris. They both regarded me with some suspicion when I brought up flower sketches.

For a buttercup sketch had been slipped under the front door at Briony Lodge. A warning. Then, a black rose had been left on the steps. A double warning. Was I really viewed as the threat in this? An impossibly amusing, yet sobering, thought!

And then, when I was returning from one of my daily expeditions, I learned that Mr. Holmes had been there and that a plan was in place. I was a bit disappointed that I was to have no major role in the matter, but accepted my instructions with as much equanimity as I could summon. At least I was not being kept out entirely!

Thus, a week after I had first dressed to be seen in polite society, I found myself once again dressing with just as much care as I had taken then. A charming gown of green satin made me look like an adult. A gold locket, a gift from Father, hung at my throat. White gloves encased my hands and arms up to my elbows. My fan was on my wrist, and I felt prepared for battle.

Mr Mycroft Holmes, the elder brother to Sherlock Holmes, had put it about, somehow, that Lord Wetherby once again held documents of national importance. It was in Lord Wetherby's house that the trap was in place.

From my father's description, every servant had been examined carefully. Every detail had been approved by both Mr. Holmes. My mother was to perform and hold everyone's attention. My father and several others would join Mr. Sherlock Holmes in hiding to catch our thief. Lord Wetherby was the only one of his family to know of the plot.

Everything was as it should have been, which ought to have warned me that something was about to go wrong. I walked the edge of the room, smiling and acting the role of a charming young lady. I spotted a familiar face and went to it. "Well, Mr. Kennedy," I remarked. "I would never have taken you for a music lover."

The young man gave a start as he looked at me. "Well, if it isn't the independent Miss Norton," he said. "Have I risen in your estimation?"

"Perhaps a little."

"My father had always sung the praises of Irene Adler, if you will pardon the pun," Quentin Kennedy said, turning his attention to the other guests. "She is quite famous since Dr. Watson published A Scandal in Bohemia."

I bit back a smile. Lord Wetherby caught my eye in nodded. It was time for the concert to begin. Excusing myself, I went to find the star of the evening. "Mother," I called, knocking on the door. She had a room where she prepared for her performance. She was always very serious about it. "Mother, they want to know if you are ready to begin."

There was no answer. "Mother?" I called again, uneasily testing the doorknob. It was locked. "Mother, its Serena. Please let me in. Or answer me."

Still, no response.

Becoming more and more worried, I put my shoulder against the door and put all my weight against it. "Mother!" I called. I spotted a maid. "Excuse me! Can you find a key for this door, please?"

Nodding, the maid hurried on. I continued to call for Mother, hoping she would answer. It was several minutes before the housekeeper came hurrying up to the door, riffling through her many keys. I barely let her unlock the door before I pushed her aside. "Mother, are you well?" I asked, rushing into the room. "Mother!"

My mother was sprawled on the floor. I threw myself down next to her. "Mother!" I exclaimed, grabbing her hands in mine. I felt some relief at seeing her chest rise and fall. I rubbed her hands. "Mother, please wake up!"

"Here are smelling salts," the housekeeper said, kneeling down. She waved the vial under Mother's nose.

With a groan, Mother stirred. She pulled a hand free and raised it to her head. "What is the time?" she asked, opening her eyes. "I-I must get to my place. Delay will only warn-."

I knew exactly what she getting at. If she were to not begin her performance, the villain would know something was amiss and our trap would fail. So, who had done this to her in the first place? I shook the thought away. I would dwell on it later. "You are not well enough to sing now," I told her as I helped her sit up.

"They are relying on me," Mother responded, flinching.

We could not fail them! Which left only one option for us. "Please stay with her," I requested, looking to the housekeeper. "I will give you some time to recover, Mother. Do not worry."

Rising, I hurried out, ignoring Mother's protest. I would have to take her place for the opening song.

* * *

I told Lord Wetherby all was in place and as he called for everyone's attention, I took up position by the piano. The man there gave me a strange look as I informed him of the change in songs. I did not have Mother's range or experience, and chose a song that I had always enjoyed singing. I'd never sung in front of an audience before and could only hope I could pull it off creditably.

As the intro was played, I scanned the audience. Miss Wetherby's face was furious. I filed that fact away to be dealt with when I could focus. Taking a deep breath I began to sing the ten year old song that was still favored by many, _After the Ball _by Charles K. Harris. Perhaps it was more suited to end a musical display, but it was the best I knew.

Surprise filtered through audience that soon settled into rapt silence the further into the song I went. I saw very little movement, and the only person to leave was Miss Wetherby. I hoped she would stay out of the way of the trap being strung.

All too soon, I let the last note fade into nothing. Lowering my head, I made a low curtsy, trying to get my breath back gracefully. There was applause, and then Mother was beside me. "Well done, Serena," she whispered. She nudged me away from the piano, taking my place. She flicked her hand in a signal and Shubert's _Ave Maria_ began, more to what the audience had been expected.

I gasped for breath as I reached the empty hallway. I remembered Miss Wetherby and decided I needed to find the girl before she could cause any mischief because there was no point in watching an audience that was watching Mother. Taking a deep breath, I set off.


	9. Chapter 9

A thud from the second story caught my attention. It was followed by a muffled shout, and then silence. Lifting my skirt, I rushed up the stairs. I saw the library where light was coming through the open door. I hurried to reach it, hearing Mr. Holmes' voice speaking low to someone within. Two policemen blocked my way, and I slipped between them.

Father and Dr. Watson had a young man in their grasp. It wasn't Quentin Kennedy as I had suspected but Jeremiah Graves! I had danced with him and hadn't given him a second thought! I had seen him speaking to each of the young ladies of the fans and had assumed he was simply well connected. I was a fool for not seeing it before!

But he was not the focus of everyone in the room. Caroline Wetherby was there, in the middle of the room, and in her hand was a pistol. Where had she gotten that? And more importantly, why was she pointing it at herself?

"Miss Wetherby, put the gun down," Mr. Holmes said.

"Let Jeremiah go," Miss Wetherby demanded, her hand tightening on the gun.

"She won't pull the trigger," one of the policemen said.

"She will." I hadn't meant to say it out loud, but it came out. Father glanced back at me. I shouldn't be here but I was and I could see the truth in her eyes. She had every intention of killing herself if she didn't get her way. She was a spoiled debutante who was prepared to do _anything_ to get her way. And right now she wanted Jeremiah Graves. "She believes Mr. Graves is attached to her."

Miss Wetherby looked at me. Slowly, I moved forward. I sent a condemning look at the prisoner as I did. He did not look in the least bit ashamed of what he'd done. "But did Lady Elisabeth, Miss Amelia Johanson, and Miss Emily Meyer believe the same thing?" I asked, turning my attention to Miss Wetherby. "Did they believe he would marry them?"

"No!" Caroline snapped. Her hand shook. "He never would have done that!"

"But you all knew his intentions, and all of you allowed him free reign to take what he wished," Holmes spoke up, picking up on my line of reasoning. "Why would your friends allow your lover to steal papers if they had no attachment to him? Did you truly believe they did it because you asked them to?"

Doubt sprang in Cariline's eyes. "You were bored. You wanted something to distract you," I continued, pressing the point. "All of eight of you were bored. You-you formed a sort of club to distract yourselves. You kept it secret from everyone else. Then, here was a man with charm, and he distracted you with his witty remarks and flattery."

I was guessing at this point, but from how her face paled, I was right. The rest of the puzzle fell into place for me. "Miss Johanson, Miss Meyer, and Lady Elisabeth felt guilty," Holmes said, speaking what I was thinking. "They were going to tell. But you didn't want to lose Mr. Graves so you warned him. Your friends ignored the buttercup warning, and then they died."

Caroline's hand was shaking badly. "He loves me!"

"Look at him!" I snapped, pointing at Graves. "Does he look like he cares whether you die or not? If he loved you, he would be pleading with you as everyone else is to lower that gun."

Her eyes flicked to her lover, and her face crumbled with despair. Her hand dropped as she burst into tears. "But he loved me! He swore he loved me and that we would have a life together! He just needed money from selling those silly papers!"

Holmes sprang forward and took the gun from her. Lord Wetherby hurried to her side. "Get that man out of my sight!" he ordered.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I stepped to the side as the policemen took charge of the traitor. "My brother has government men waiting to question him," Holmes remarked, handing the pistol over to Dr. Watson. "I believe he will discover that Jeremiah Graves is a Russian spy. Who better to serve as a spy than an Englishman who has no ties to Russia? No one would suspect him."

"Serena, you nearly gave me a heart attack," Father scolded, putting his arm around my shoulders. Lord Wetherby escorted his sobbing daughter out.

"You see, Watson?"Holmes said, sounding smug. "It was as I said at the beginning. Who better to give insight into a young lady than a young lady? Miss Serena, you have my thanks."

"Holmes, can this mean you are prepared to admit that females have their uses?" Dr. Watson exclaimed.

The consulting detective looked appalled. "Certainly not!" he protested vehemently. "This case has merely solidified my view that sentiment, something females rely on all too much, is to be avoided at all cost. Had Miss Wetherby acted in a rational manner, she would have seen the truth of Jeremiah Graves. Certainly, her "woman's instinct" that you idealize so much failed her."

Watson shook his head with a sigh. "Come Serena, your mother will want a full explanation," Father said.

* * *

Appalled, I stared at the flowers that filled the sitting room. Apparently, when I sang, I had acquired several admirers, who then sent flowers to demonstrate their admiration. "But...I'm only fourteen!" I protested, looking at Mrs. Leigh for some kind of help. "These can't possible be for me! There must be twenty bouquets!"

"Twenty four actually."

I snagged the message included with one of the bouquets. "Quentin Kennedy?" I read in astonishment. I crumbled the paper in my hand and tossed it away. "This is beyond ridiculous!"

Clearing her throat, the maid caught my attention. "Mr. Norton requests your presence in his study," she informed me.

Leaving Mrs. Leigh to arrange the flowers however she saw fit, I skipped to the study. I was not at all surprised to find that there were two gentlemen there with my parents. "Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, how lovely to see you again," I greeted merrily. I had been in a fantastic mood ever since the capture of Graves.

"We came to inform you that the matter is now officially closed," Holmes said. "I'm afraid you and your family will receive no credit for your assistance in the case. My brother has threatened me with a knighthood or some such thing, so you may count yourself fortunate to have avoided that."

"I am happy I could help," I said sincerely. I couldn't keep from grinning. "I didn't get hurt this time around, so I shall count it as an improvement."

Both of my parents stopped smiling, and I regretted making the comment. "You are forgetting Miss Stanhope," Holmes responded. "And that reminds me, I've contacted the head of a very well to do school, Miss Violet Hunter."

"The Copper Beeches!" I exclaimed, remembering the case.

Dr. Watson chuckled as Holmes looked momentarily pained. "She is willing to take on a student at this late date," the detective continued. He looked to my parents. "She is clever, for a woman. Miss Serena should do rather well there."

"Thank you, we will look into it," Father responded.

I titled my head. "And what of you, Mr. Holmes? Will you simply wait for another case to come your way?"

"Perhaps. I've had it in mind to retire soon," Holmes answered. "To the country."

Surprised by the response, I had to ask. "And what shall you do there? Write more monographs?"

"Raise bees. And yes, write a monograph on the subject," Holmes responded. He'd clearly given this some thought! He gestured to Watson. "Speaking of monographs, I believe you should be more careful with these this time around. I have better things to do than replace them."

Smiling, Watson handed me a wrapped package. "Thank you! I shall be an expert on ash soon," I said, holding the package to my chest. I held out my hand. "Until next time, Mr. Holmes."

Solemnly, Holmes shook my hand. "Until next time, Miss Serena."

They both bid good day to my parents and left. I promptly sat down and ripped open my package. The monographs that were so familiar to me, and had been destroyed, sat there, just waiting to be opened and studied.

"Serena, you are not going to start burning things again."

"But, Mother-!"

"No."

* * *

_**A/N: And that brings us to the end of The Secret of the Debutantes. Hope you all enjoyed it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and followed and just read it. See you at the next fic!**_


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